


His Eyes

by KeniStories



Category: In the Heart of the Sea (2015)
Genre: Almost father and son, Danger, More of a retelling of the tale, No Ship, Other, Through the eyes of Chase and Nickerson, emaciation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 13:35:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16641150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeniStories/pseuds/KeniStories
Summary: Owen Chase talks about the sea journey how he saw it as reflected in the eyes and reactions of Thomas Nickerson, the youngest of the crew. There is a brief section of words from Thomas.





	His Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This retelling is told a few years after their journey, and Thomas is living with Chase and his wife and daughter.

His Eyes

*Owen Chase’s POV*  
The strength he carried amazed me. He was stronger than most of the rest of us. Resilient. Determined. Always eager to learn more. There was nothing his big, doe-eyes didn’t catch. His voice was unmistakable in the din of the sea, of the crew, the creaking wood of the ship. His voice was high, and it rang out through the deep bellowing of the men. 14 years of age. Orphaned. He had an older friend amid the crew that came from the same orphanage. Just children, eager to prove themselves as men. And I tell you this: Nickerson proved himself to be twice the man than any of those lily-livered rich folk that sleep in silk sheets every night; indeed, twice the man as any I’ve met. We went through unimaginable horrors in our journey through the sea, and as a well-seasoned adult, it gave me PTSD, endless nightmares in the waking day, and who knows what else. But for a child, I cannot imagine what it did to him. I don’t know, for he never spoke much of it afterward. Yes, there was an afterward. He went his way and I went mine, but our paths crossed again a few months after the return of our journey. I had moved my wife and child from the patch of dirt we called home into the city, and lived a better life there. Thomas had not done so well. He escaped the orphanage and made a life for himself as well as he could. But it just was not enough. I ran into him in the market one day a year or so after we parted ways. He played everything off as being great, but in reality, he was a tortured soul. He was on his own, just a kid. And he could not tell anyone what he had been through. So he suffered in silence, as all the survivors did. My wife agreed to taking him into our home, to give him a roof over his head, and a bed to sleep on. He could come and go as he pleased. He never asked for anything, but was always happy to join us at dinner time. He worked wherever he could and insisted that he give us some of his earnings for his lodgings, but we refused. His living with us was a joy, and he was so respectful and never got his ego in a knot. But every time I looked into his eyes I saw the same boy beginning the journey with me all that time ago:

His eyes were so bright, looking at the ship and crew for the first time. He looked slightly overwhelmed, which was to be expected. But he was a fast learner, and soon knew all the terms for every little knot and line on the ship. He could tie expertly with just a few tries, and he was light enough on the ropes that it took him no time at all to clamber up to the sails. His sea-sickness was amusing (that is, until he threw up on me), and he never argued about always being told to swab the deck. He figured that was his place and he would have to work his way up. There was one task in all that time that he would not do willingly, and that was climbing down into the head of the first (and only) whale we caught. I felt kind of bad, but I made him get down there anyway and dig out the oil that was left. His retching could be heard even on the front end of the ship. 

His eyes were ready to see more action, having gotten over his very first successful whale hunt. That gleam in his eyes was seen in all the men, eager for more fights with the giant beasts. It’s an addictive thing, realizing you’re the strongest and smartest creature in God’s creation. And to take down something as massive as a whale makes you feel like the king of the earth. 

His eyes were full of watchfulness, looking out over the endless blue. Watching for any sign of the giant sea creatures. There had been no sightings for two months, but still he held hope. “They’re all further out to sea to escape the whalers, I reckon, sir.” He told me one day as he gripped the rope, leaning his face against it. We reached Ecuador not too much longer than that and we were able to replenish our supplies. That was when we first heard of the White Whale. I did not take stock in what the Ecuadorian told us, but I did not laugh at him either. But we knew where the whales were. 

His eyes held doubt as we continued to sail straight on where we were told not to go. But he never raised his voice against Captain Pollard or I for our decisions. Even when the others did. He was tired, but willing to hold through. I realized not too long after this, that of anyone’s trust and respect I would most hate to lose, it would be Thomas’. 

His eyes were again lit up with adventure and thrill when the water ahead showed white, like rapids in a river. The watchman cried out that there were whales ahead, and we were off before long, chasing down these whales and having a blast. And then we felt the first tremors. As if it were possible to feel an earthquake while on the surface of the ocean. Everyone in our little whale boat froze, and I only half noticed that the other two little boats were closing in on a whale up ahead. I had just barely glimpsed the note of fear and curiosity in Thomas’ eyes when we were suddenly turned upside down. The whole boat flew up and we were thrown out. 

His eyes held determination and veiled panic as we tried to patch up the little boat with hot tar. The other two boats were still out there, unaware of what had just happened to us. I was starting to think that the tale of the white whale was true, and that it would go after the other two boats that were oblivious. But no- the whale was here. It had followed us back to the Essex and was intent on taking her down. Utter chaos ensued as the demon whale started to tear our ship to pieces. By the time Captain Pollard and the other boats knew what was happening, the Essex was listing, her sails and masts rent and torn. We were able to get most of our provisions and water to the smaller boats. 

His eyes were relived and frightened at the same time as he called out my name. I had barely escaped the exploding ship and swam hard to the boats. He pulled me into the boat with the help of others. And then the three boats stayed close together as we figured out what to do next. 

His eyes held fear and disappointment when he learned how much each person would be given to eat a day. He was used to going hungry, I was sure of that. But not that hungry. It would be a rough time for all of us. Using the maps and compass, Pollard calculated how far away we were from any kind of civilization. But the sea had other ideas, and we were not permitted to get any closer to land than we were already for a long time. 

His eyes had lost that familiar shine that seemed to be unquenchable, always there despite the constant turn of events. But this slow, dull waiting day in and day out was worse than any twists or turns that life could throw. We were in those boats for around a month when we saw land. It was an empty island, but we were desperate, eating whatever was remotely edible: raw fish, seagulls eggs, and standing under a small precipice of rock, waiting for a drop of water. I found Thomas a little later, lying on the beach asleep. Not feeling the stabbing aches of hunger put one to sleep quite quickly. I was able to get fires going, and mustered the patience I could find in myself to cook what fish I could catch. I made sure he ate some, as well as the other crew members.  
His eyes were sorrowful, but resigned when he realized we were leaving three men behind. They could endure this journey no longer and preferred to wait for chance help, or for death to take them there. He watched them, but I knew he never once thought of staying. There had started to grow a certain look in his eyes, one of fear and foreboding. Like something that haunted him and wouldn’t let him rest. But he stuck close to us, and was never without us while we were on the island. I realized later that he was afraid of being left behind. Or being alone. It drove him like a devil would drive with a whip. 

His eyes were bitter as he watched the white whale turn around and around in the water like it was performing tricks for us, when in reality it was laughing at us and taunting us. He spoke no word, but his eyes held every bit of anger, bitterness, and fascination. But there was still that resilience in his eyes that had never left. No matter what.

His eyes were starting to stare out of his head more and more with every day the sun came up. His high cheek bones protruded, making the skin over the bridge of his small nose and jaw stretch out. Lank, damp, brown curls were stuck to his forehead, and his lips were cracked to the point of bleeding. I wished I could have done something. But I realized I probably looked no better. I was thankful there was no mirror. Not even the sea gave a good reflection. I was terribly thirsty, as I knew the others were as well. It was maddening. Absolute hell. Water. Water everywhere. But not a drop of it to drink. We hadn’t any strength left, so sleeping was a natural pastime. 

His eyes held fear and betrayal and utter disgust when I told him what we had to do. But no sailor in their right minds would throw away their only chance of survival. I will never forget his face. The innocence being sapped right out of him as our comrade did what he had to do to the body of Mr. Peterson in the back of the boat. The boy cried silently, fiddling idly with a knot on the tiny mast of the boat. And I heard him mutter so so weakly, “My soul is dead.” And that was all he would say as if he had somehow shut himself out from reality. I was the first to approach him, giving him some of the flesh, but he wouldn’t take it. I ate what I could manage and tried my hardest not to think. But it was nearly impossible to feed Thomas. The boy fought about it, but in the end, he was just too weak. I was sitting with him, nearly having to hold him still as he ate what was given to him. He gagged and would have thrown up if I hadn’t forced him to keep it inside. His very survival depended on it. 

His eyes held nothing. Nothing except the glint of moonlight as he occasionally looked in my direction. We talked a little, mostly about affairs back at home. Families. Friends. But eventually he grew silent and did not speak anymore.  
I woke up in the night to hear him choking. I sat up as best I could in my weakened state and saw that the boy was asleep in the bottom of the boat, but water had collected, almost covering him. But he was so weak that not being able to breathe did not wake him up. I grabbed a torn up shirt and slowly sat him up, putting the fabric behind his head. He gasped a little, but was fine. Relatively. I gave him what little water we had left. That was that. This ocean was no different than the desert. The sun was hot in the day, but its absence left us with uncontrollable chills at night. Constantly being baked then frozen, baked then frozen. No water to drink. 

I do not know what his eyes were like because my own eyes were fading. Everything was hazy, and I hadn’t the strength to move anymore. I was vaguely aware that I was crying for my father. Begging him not to leave me. I heard the gulls crying overhead, and I realized that I was dead. I was safe now. And ever so faintly I heard “M-Mr. Chase…? Mr..Chase…wake up..” It was his soft little voice, more of a ghostly wheeze, but that was as much of it as I heard before I knew no more. 

———————————————————————————————————————  
*Thomas Nickerson’s POV*  
I had never known such hunger and pain in all my life. The sun was glaring, and I couldn’t see too good. After a night of shivering uncontrollably I was baking in the sun. I couldn’t sweat anymore because there was nothing to sweat. I couldn’t cry anymore either. My last good cry was days ago when…when…no… and after that I just dried up, I guess. Mr. Chase held on for a long time, and he was so strong when no one else could be. But when he was finally giving up, I heard sea gulls. I saw the land up ahead and I didn’t know what to feel. I had to tell Mr. Chase. I reached for him, trying to get to him but my legs stopped working a long time ago. I couldn’t get up. My voice wouldn’t work. I couldn’t scream. I called for him, begging and pleading. I even grabbed the rope he leaned against and shook it, trying to move him. No good. It seemed no one else heard me either. So I just slowly sunk back into the boat, willing myself to hang on for a little longer. 

———————————————————————————————————————  
*Owen Chase’s POV*  
We made it home after being rescued in Chile. I won’t go into great detail about what happened there, but in short, I healed much faster than I expected. After I got used to eating and moving around again I started to get back to normal. I put myself in charge of my men of course, but of Nickerson foremost. The boy was pale, suffering from fevers and illnesses and who knows what else. He took the longest to recover, and I speculate that was because he had lasted the longest. Sure we all lived, those of us who made it here, but he had actually held on to be somewhat responsive until the very end. I never left his side, and I made sure to help him get back on his feet. Before long, his skull of a face started to fill out, and his cheeks became rounder, and his eyes didn’t stare out like they did. And then, there was finally something rather than nothing in his eyes: that curiosity and a little of the old resilience was back. But now a sadness, and a solemness not known to him previously. The look did not fit his spritely youthfulness. Finally, his collarbone started to disappear, as did his ribs. He was up and moving before long. 

That concludes most of what happened. As I mentioned before, when we got home we went our separate ways. But I felt like something was missing and was incomplete as long as I knew that he was out there by himself without any family to help him cope. He moved in with my wife and I, and he got along with our daughter well, making a wonderful addition to our little family. That’s our tale, and I have since helped send him off to school. A decent trade school. He’ll be getting his own place soon. I hope one day he will be able to talk about what happened. He doesn’t think I notice, but it’s eating away at him day by day. 

His eyes are haunted and hollow sometimes. But he masks it well with that brilliant smile of his. I have tried to make him talk about it, but he gets stubborn and won’t talk at all. I have been able to talk about it, but only to my wife. And that is enough for me.

*The Aftermath*

———————————————————————————————————————  
*Thomas Nickerson’s POV*  
It’s been 6 years since our journey across the sea ended. Mr. Chase and his wife were kind enough to give me a place to lodge for a while. They will never know how much good this kindness has done me. I thought I could make it on my own. I couldn’t go back to the orphanage, plus it was about time I started doing things on my own anyway. I went from town to town, finding work where I could, and saving up what I earned. But sometimes I had to resort to stealing. Mostly just vegetables from the gardens and farms. I haven’t been able to eat meat since…and I probably never will. I spent 2 years working on farms wherever I could and even went to a factory. But suddenly a bout of sickness went through the place and I did not stay. I was down to my last few pennies and went to the market near the city to get what food I could that would last me a few days longer, and I ran into Mr. Chase. He was happy to see me, but did not really show it. I must have looked like absolute rubbish because he asked me to come over for supper. I gladly accepted. During the mealtime, he did not pester me with questions, but he wanted to know how life was treating me since the journey. I told him I was fine and I was living just how I wanted to. Getting to travel and see the sights and go where I wished. But he knew this was all a ploy. A cover. They let me wash up, and gave me a bed for the night. His wife was so kind. I was so self-conscious around her, feeling like this little dirty rodent in the palace of a queen. And their little girl, such a sweetheart. The only times when tensions came up was when it was just me and Mr. Chase. He took me with him on his trips as a sea merchant. He was captain of his own ship now. Sailing on his own terms. Once in a while he would bring something up about our journey, and I didn’t like it. He tried to get me to get my thoughts out, which is odd because he is not a man of feelings. But I never obeyed that wish. The only one. The night terrors came almost every night, and in the morning the memories ran through my head like shrieking ghosts. But I couldn’t get them out. I still haven’t, and I don’t think I ever will.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first story that I have posted. Let me know what you all think.


End file.
